


the stranger

by AWE



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Identity Porn, Identity Reveal, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:36:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27143254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWE/pseuds/AWE
Summary: “I’m going to the coast,” he said at last.“The—the coast,” the other witcher repeated, an unplaceable tone to his voice.-Months after the altercation on the mountain, Geralt meets a witcher who seems familiar.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 105





	the stranger

The warg had knocked him on his back when he suddenly thought of Jaskier, who would have loved to get a song out of this. The wrestle of the warg and witcher, he’d call it. Grunting, Geralt caught the beast’s jaws in his hands as it snapped at him. Strange how thoughts intrude. 

Less strange, perhaps, considering how often he’d thought of the bard over the past year, ever since they’d parted ways after the dragon hunt.

“You hideous brute, look here!” 

The warg took off from atop him. Geralt rolled into a crouch just in time to see the beast dive towards a man waving his arms. Fear hurtled through him—that idiot was going to die—

The warg screeched and fell to the side as a bright light shot from the man’s hands, which laced at the pinky and fanned out like the sun’s rays. Heliotrop. Not a man—a witcher, and one adept at signs. 

The warg staggered up, eyes rolling, blinded by the glare of the sign. Geralt grabbed his blade where it’d been flung in the trampled grass and leapt towards the beast and in one swift movement stabbed it in its neck. It went limp. He yanked his blade out, a trail of the monster’s blood following the motion. For a moment, all was silent save for his own heavy breaths.

“Well, that was a fun romp, wasn’t it?”

Geralt looked at the other witcher. His face, though marred by three long scars, seemed almost boyish due to the breathless grin it wore. He was a Griffin, by looks of his medallion. That explained the sign. He stood close enough that Geralt could smell the halo of chaos still wafting from him. 

“Who are you?”

“A thank you would suffice, you know,” he continued. “I did just come to your aid in the most spectacular—”

Geralt pointed his sword at the other witcher. “Who are you.” 

He swallowed. “My name is Julian,” he said, putting his palms up. “Julian of—of Kerack. I was passing by and heard the commotion, and thought it remiss to ignore another witcher’s plight.”

“Julian of Kerack,” Geralt said, flat. “I haven’t heard of you.”

“How presumptuous! I wouldn’t know every witcher on the Continent!”

There was something about Julian that nagged at Geralt.

“What do you want.”

“Is it so hard to believe that a witcher may help another witcher? Monsters aplenty this far north. The Path is easier with aid where we can get it.”

He was right. Geralt liked to be suspicious, but not an arse. “Fine. Thank you,” he said, lowering his sword. “Your Heliotrop was impressive,” he added grudgingly. He turned towards where he’d tied Roach across the clearing. Julian’s smile widened as he fell into step beside him.

“Great praise from Geralt of Rivia himself—oh, don’t look at me like that. White hair, that surliness? You’re the White Wolf from those songs. Everyone’s heard them.”

Geralt kept walking. 

“Where are you headed, my white-haired, surly friend?”

“I’m not your friend,” Geralt said, almost absently, reflexively, filling in the well-worn grooves of an old exchange.

“I suppose not,” Julian conceded, a tinge of bitterness to his words that made Geralt frown. “Nonetheless, I’m curious. Where are you going next?”

They stopped before Roach, who started towards Geralt but pinned her ears back as Julian stepped closer.

“My lady,” the other witcher said to Roach, standing just out of biting distance. “Pardon me.”

Geralt paused for a moment, looking at the fool bowing to his horse. He ran a gentling hand across her neck, sheathing his sword onto her saddle. “I’m going to the coast,” he said at last, to the sky. 

“The—the coast,” the other witcher repeated, straightening, an unplaceable tone to his voice. 

“Yes,” Geralt said, narrowing his eyes. “Cidaris. What of it?”

“No, no. That’s...excellent, just superb,” Julian said. “I’ll travel there with you.”

“What,” he said.

“As coincidence would have it, I’m headed to Cidaris as well,” Julian said cheerily.

“I work alone,” Geralt said. He took Roach’s reins and began to walk. The other witcher gave a small huff, smiling to himself in some private joke. 

“Be that as it may,” Julian said, sauntering up next to him. “Two witchers are better than one, as the old adage goes! Or was it two heads are better than one? Two witcher heads are better than one? Eh, you get my gist. Certainly we’d be a formidable duo, you and I, Geralt of Rivia and Julian of Kerack, vanquishing monsters across the Continent, striking fear into the hearts of villains and adoration in that of maidens…”

He finally placed it, why the witcher seemed so familiar. The way he spoke—it was just like Jaskier. Both of them, blathering away like that. The reminder twisted something awful in his gut. Enough. Geralt pulled himself atop Roach and made to kick her into a canter. 

“I’m cursed,” Julian said abruptly. Geralt froze, heels hovering over Roach’s flank. “The truth of the matter is that I’m cursed, alright. And I’m looking for a mage to break it.”

“I’m no mage,” Geralt said.

“No,” Julian agreed. “But you’re Geralt of Rivia. You know mages. I’ve heard the songs that mention—sorceresses.”

“You want my help,” Geralt said, furrowing his brow. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

Julian looked away at that. “I don’t want your help. I don’t want...anything of you,” he said quietly, and Geralt felt as if he’d blundered into something tender, pressed on a bruise. “I merely have a proposition: We aid each other on contracts, and along the way, maybe bump into a mage or two that you know.”

He had been traveling alone since the mountain and had not seen Jaskier nor even Yennefer. The solitude felt correct, penitentiary. But the silence felt entirely wrong.

“What’s the curse?”

“That, I cannot share,” Julian said. “Not for my lack of wanting—a condition of the curse, you know how they work, terribly cliche.” 

“Is it a danger to me or others?”

“No,” the other witcher said firmly. “I wouldn’t have come to you otherwise.”

He couldn’t explain why he believed him, no. But he did. He shook his head and schooled his face into a neutral expression and prodded Roach into a slow walk. “Not much of a proposition if you’ll follow me anyway.”

“Nonsense! All you need is to accept,” Julian said, walking aside Roach with a grin, “and you have.”

I haven’t, Geralt wanted to say. So go away, he wanted to say. But Julian looked at him, and he looked at Julian, and his heart twinged thinking of another who would smile at him so while walking beside him so, and he could not bring himself to say anything.

**Author's Note:**

> gErAlT yOu GiGaNtIc DuM dUm
> 
> -
> 
> first fic ever! i've been lurking for so long in this fandom and can no longer resist writing something of my own! please comment and validate me!!!


End file.
